


The Pit

by looneymoony



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anxiety, Guilt, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, as per fuckin usual, ford breaks down in this one broh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:24:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6751981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/looneymoony/pseuds/looneymoony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a pit in Ford's backyard. He and Fiddleford decide to check it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Truth Is Buried

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Written: May 4, 2016  
> Tumblr Source: not up yet  
> okay wow. it has been a LONG TIME since i've posted anything. i got an idea for a big fic a while ago and i wanted to write that, but i kinda have to wait till journal 3 comes out before i can write it, so i put that on hold. after that i started yet ANOTHER fic that was a one-shot but was really heavy like topic-wise and kept bogging me down; maybe i'll finish that up soon if i have some time but it's gonna take a lot of willpower. then the other day i saw this [http://tinyurl.com/j5kaufq] and burned and wrote the entire first chapter of this. so that's my excuse. i hope you like it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford tells Fiddleford about the pit.

Friday afternoons were usually uneventful for Fiddleford. Ford would usually let him off of work early and he could have the rest of the day free. He usually liked to spend it by the lake with his son. Usually, he'd relax on the shore or teach Tate whatever he could about fishing. Usually Stanford would be doing something else, but sometimes he liked to join them. He usually enjoyed going to the lake. He usually dismissed whatever questions Fiddleford would ask with a wave of his hand and some mutterings about nostalgia. Usually, Fiddleford didn't mind and wouldn't press his best friend any further.

This wasn't a usual Friday afternoon, unfortunately (and Fiddleford _did_ look back on the events that transpired as unfortunate).

He was crouched down close to the ground, peering intently at the sight before him. He sat still for a moment, before straightening back up and studying it from that distance. Stanford stood eagerly to the side, waiting for a response.

"It's a pit," Fiddleford finally concluded.

Ford groaned in exasperation. "Of _course_ it's a pit, Fiddleford. I told you that part before we even got here! I want to know what you think of it!"

Fiddleford shook his head. "I don't know what to tell you, Ford. It's a nice pit. I don't know why it's in your backyard, but I suppose it could make a good garden feature if you planted some flowers around it."

"What?"

"Some flowers. You know, like a nice ground cover, like woodruff or something, with those tiny white blossoms. Or maybe some forget-me-nots."

"You think s - what are you talking about? No, we're not here for flowers. Look at this." Ford pulled a rock out of his pocket.

Fiddleford inspected it. "Did you take that rock from my garden?"

"...Maybe. _It's not about the rock._ Just watch!" Ford turned and tossed it into the hole.

"Hey! That was a gift from - "

"SHH!!!!" Ford dragged the other man to the ground by his lapels, far closer to the edge of the pit than Fiddleford would like to be. "Just listen!"

Fiddleford did as he was told, straining his ears.

He sat.

He listened.

He was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.

"I don't hear anything, Ford," he said.

Ford beamed at him, nodding. " _Exactly_."

A wave of realization washed over his face. "Sweet Sally..."

"Right?!" Ford sat up, giddy with excitement.

"Wait, what? That doesn't make any sense! Just how deep is this thing?"

"Fiddleford. _Fiddleford_." Ford said. He couldn't sit still. "I think it might be bottomless."

"Bottomless? Now hang on a second, Ford," Fiddleford stood up, but Ford was already pacing around, scratching down something in his journal. "The pit might be deep, sure, but that don't necessarily mean it's _bottomless_ \--"

"I've asked around, Fiddleford!" he closed the journal and tucked it away. "All the locals say that this thing goes on forever! That it's cursed! Bewitched! _Haunted_ , even!"

" _Ford_." Fiddleford stopped the man and held him at arm's length by the shoulders, looking him square in the eye. "Listen to me. I know what you're thinking. Just hear me out. It's not too late. We can go down to the lake and have a nice, normal afternoon. I'll get Tate from his mom. We can even rent a boat. It'll be nice. You don't have to do this."

For a split second, Ford looked lost. Uncertain. It was a look that Fiddleford didn't understand. A look that worried him.

Then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone. "Pffft. You don't have to be so paranoid, Fiddleford. Come on! I've already got some rope, and..."

Ford pulled away and continued rambling about the pit - statistics, warnings, theories, you have it, but Fiddleford was no longer listening. He simply gulped and stared into the pit as a sinking feeling began to settle in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally supposed to be a big one-shot and it sort of is?? it's just gonna be separated into chunks. hopefully that'll make it easier to read. it just made sense to make them chapters even though they aren't long at all. i'm not sure how many there are gonna be yet. not a lot. anyway, i should be finishing up the next bit soon!


	2. For Those You Hold Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford goes into the pit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally Written: May 15, 2016  
> whoops, haha, kinda let this slide. ah well. i'll keep posting chapters as they're ready!

**T MINUS FOUR MINUTES**

Fiddleford might as well have not moved from the spot he'd been standing in a few hours prior. Once again, he was standing before the pit, this time in jeans instead of a lab coat, staring into its theoretically bottomless maw. As Ford prattled on some last-minute calculations, he stared, deeper and deeper. The pit seemed to beckon him closer, then to open up, to swallow him whole, engulfing him in the dark, noiseless void.

"Eugh."

Ford glanced up. "What did you say?"

"What?" Fiddleford snapped out of his trance. "Nothing. Never mind."

Ford studied him for a second before shrugging and continuing with his ranting. Fiddleford shifted uncomfortably in his harness, looking up at the sky. Storm clouds were forming overhead, and the sun would be setting soon. He didn't usually like to work this late, but then again, it wasn't a usual Friday.

The plan was - plain and simple - to go down into the pit and see how deep it was. Fiddleford had asked if that meant he thought it wasn't truly bottomless, to which Ford had responded with a sly grin and a "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?" Instead of using a proper pit gauge (for some reason), they'd decided to measure the depth of the pit in identical rope lengths, each about one hundred feet long. As they lowered themselves into the pit, they could measure how far down they'd gone based on how much rope they'd used.

"They". Actually, Ford would be the only one going into the pit. Fiddleford was only geared up in case there was an emergency and he needed to head in after him. As usual, Ford hadn't given much consideration to safety precautions and probably would have jumped into the pit without second thought if it weren't for his partner. Fiddleford had managed to convince Ford that harnesses were a good idea, as well as headlamps and a walkie-talkie so that he could call for help and tell Fiddleford whatever he saw.

He hoped he wouldn't see anything.

"All ready?"

Fiddleford nodded, tugging his rope to show he was secure. "Yessir. How's the walkie-talkie?"

Ford held his up to his mouth with a smirk. "This is Tiger One to Rooster. Come in, Rooster. Do you read me? Over."

Fiddleford sighed. "This is Rooster. Loud and clear. Over."

"Tiger One to Rooster. Be honest: does this harness do anything for my figure? Over."

Finally Fiddleford laughed and gave him a little shove. "Get in the hole, you big goober."

Ford's grin widened and he grabbed a hold of the rope as he hopped in the pit. He bounced a little bit, pushing himself off the side of the wall, trying to get a feel for the support. He glanced up. "Your watch is set?"

"Watch? Oh, yes," Fiddleford took out his stopwatch. They set them in unison. "Are you sure you'll be warm enough climbing down there in your trench coat?"

"Yes, why?"

Fiddleford blushed a bit. "I just don't want you getting stuck down there freezing cold."

Ford made a face. Another face Fiddleford didn't quite understand. He didn't like not understanding Ford. He couldn't help him if he didn't understand. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

Fiddleford gulped. "Okay."

Ford cleared his throat and glanced around. "Well, I suppose I'll find out while I'm down there if I've forgotten anything."

"Already did," said Fiddleford, tapping his own forehead.

Ford looked up and saw his gesture, then reached up to his own forehead, confused. "No, I'm wearing my headlamp."

Fiddleford leaned down and switched it on. He stepped back and gave him a thumbs up. "Good luck down there, buddy."

"Hey Fiddleford?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry I took your rock."

Fiddleford couldn't keep himself from smiling. "No hard feelings, Stanford."

With that, Ford began his climb down into the pit. Once again, Fiddleford felt a wind blow through him and an unsettling chill shivered down his spine. He wanted to reach out and grab Ford, to stop him from going in. Something terrible was going to happen, he was sure of it, his gut was urging him to stop it before it was too late -

Fiddleford peered into the hole.

Ford was already out of sight.


	3. Deeper Than You Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford uses the walkie-talkie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written: May 16, 2016  
> whoa i managed to finish two chapters in one week?? wow! hope you like it!!  
> thanks to mathes0n [http://tinyurl.com/zp77jym] for proofreading!

**FIFTEEN MINUTES INTO DESCENT**

The sun began to set over the canopy of the tall pines surrounding the clearing, which cast long shadows over the pit, even with the clouds overhead. Fiddleford had hoped the forest would break the wind and provide some warmth. He was wrong. (In his defense, forests weren't exactly his home turf.)

He found himself wishing he'd brought a blanket or something to keep him warm. He was wearing a fairly thick sweater, but the gusts were really starting to pick up and he dreaded what might happen if he left the site while Ford was still experimenting.

Ford. He was probably even colder, with only his trench coat as a layer. He'd warned him that he'd be cold. He wondered if he should throw his sweater down for him to wear - no, that wouldn't work. Maybe he could set up another pulley system with the extra rope he'd brought along and send it down to him safely. But then Fiddleford would just be cold.  _I could start a fire_ , he thought. He almost stood up to do so before realizing he'd never successfully started a fire on purpose.

He was sitting in the grass, staring at the massive hole in the ground. He wanted to be close by in case something happened, but not too close that he could fall in. He turned away - he could still see the shack from where he was. Maybe if he went really quickly, he could grab some supplies, a coat, a windbreaker, _something -_

In his mind, Ford's rope snapped.

He pulled his knees close to him and shivered.

The walkie-talkie lay next to him, crackling with static. He refused to turn it off, even though the other side was silent. When was the last time he'd checked on Ford? Five, ten minutes ago? He didn't want to bother him during an experiment, but at the same time, how was he supposed to know what was going on? He looked over to the pit again - the line was still taut.

 _You see, Fiddleford?_ he thought to himself, rather scoldingly. _That rope would be loose and swinging if he weren't still hanging on._

 _If_ something _weren't still hanging on,_ retorted his brain. _Who knows what sort of eldritch abominations are down in that thing? What if one of em's climbing up that rope right now towards ya?_

"Ford? Ford, are you there?"

Static on the line.

He panicked. "Ford, please!"

A rustling sound. He could hear his heart beating against his chest.

"Fiddleford, I thought we agreed to use codenames. Over."

Fiddleford sighed and rested his head on his knees. "Sorry - Rooster to Tiger One. Sorry, Ford. Over."

A bit of a laugh on the other side. "It's alright, Rooster. What's up? You sounded pretty worried. Over."

Fiddleford cleared his throat. "Uh - just, just checking in, Tiger One. Thought I'd ask how, uh... how the mission's going. Over."

Ford grunted. "I got kind of stuck for a bit. Haven't made it very far yet. Over."

 _How long would it take?_ "What's it look like down there?"

A bit of silence. Fiddleford's knuckles were white around the receiver. "Well, it would appear that I'm somewhere where it looks like I'm nowhere."

Fiddleford mouthed the words back to himself and shook his head. "What?"

"I - hang on, let me see if I can get a better look," a shuffling noise came through the receiver. A few moments later, Ford's voice was back again. "Okay, I've turned around, and... nope. Everything is still pitch black."

"You've got your headlamp on, right?"

"Well, yeah, but... it's not bright enough to see anything."

"Stanford, that doesn't make any sense," said Fiddleford. "I tested out that lamp earlier today. Its bulb should be fine."

"I don't think it's the bulb," said Ford. "I think it might have something to do with my surroundings."

Fiddleford perked up. He pulled a pad of paper and a pen out of the pocket of his jeans. "What do you mean? Um, over."

Stanford groaned. "Oh, darn, I haven't been using the proper terminology!"

Fiddleford chuckled and flipped to a new page. "It's fine, Stanford. Just tell me your theory."

"See, I don't think this darkness is just the absence of light," he said. Fiddleford began scrawling down Ford's words. "I think this might be something else. You of course know about the black hole theory, where it sucks in everything, even light?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Well," some more shuffling noises came through. "Perhaps what we're looking at here isn't a bottomless pit at all, but some sort of -- oh, _shit_ \--"

A thump. A whack.

"Stanford?"

No response.

"Tiger One! Come in, Tiger One!"

He shook the receiver, and held it up to the sky.

"Stanford!"

His heart stopped. The wind tore through his sweater, howling in his ears. Nothing came through the radio but static. His hair whipped across his face as he collapsed at the mouth of the pit, voice cracking as he shouted.

_"Stanford!!"_


	4. Fear is the Mind-Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford goes into the pit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally Written: June 7, 2016  
> i got kinda stuck on this chapter which is why it took so long. still not totally happy with how it turned out but it's better than it was. thanks to http://shwipty.tumblr.com for proofreading!

**THIRTY MINUTES INTO DESCENT**

"Oh God. Oh, no, oh no oh God --"

Fiddleford was gulping down air so fast his lungs were probably going to burst. He fell to the ground, panicked. His mind was wrought with fear,  _ what do I do what do I DO FORD IS DEAD --  _

One thought resounded above all the others:  _ You have to find him. _

_ Pull yourself together, Fiddleford.  _ He took a deep breath and stood, adrenaline coursing through his veins.  _ Afraid though you may be, you have to find him. _

His body moved without thinking, on some sort of autopilot, as though nothing else in the world came as naturally as slinging a rope through his harness. Ready or not, he needed to move quickly. He took one last look at the pit before him.

He hesitated for a moment. The pit was dark. Something had happened to Ford.

_ You have to find him. _

He switched on his headlamp and leaped in.

There was the sensation of falling, falling, weightlessness -

And then he wasn't. The rope tightened and he swung toward the wall. He kicked his feet out and hit the side of the pit. The sound was muffled and dull. Fiddleford looked around - it was just as dark as Ford had said. He couldn't see any further than ten feet or so.  _ Something could be right below you and you wouldn't even - _

He took a deep breath and started following Ford's rope down.

_ Hand over hand, hand over hand. _

For every foot he descended, another thought interrupted his mantra.  _ His hands were too sweaty. He could barely hold onto the rope without slipping. His breath was short, he was moving too slowly, Ford was in danger he had to hurry. _

Sometimes he tried to reason with his brain.

_ The rope was taut, _ he thought.

_ Of course it's taut, you dingbat _ .  _ You're climbing it. _

He couldn't argue with that.

His descent seemed to last forever. As he climbed and climbed, Ford's words came back to him:  _ "I think it's bottomless."  _ He shuddered. If that were true, he could be climbing forever, never reaching whatever destination he had.  _ What do you even think you're going to find down here?  _ he thought.  _ His corpse? _

The image of Stanford's body falling for infinity played in his mind.

Fiddleford kept climbing.

Minutes passed. He didn't know how many; he hadn't checked his stopwatch, but he didn't care. He kept his eyes fixed beneath him, scanning the endless darkness for any sign of Ford. He'd said something about getting stuck, hadn't he? He hadn't made it too far. If he were still there, wouldn't he have seen him? He wouldn't continue the mission, would he?

"Eighty-two bottles of eyes on the wall, eighty-two bottles of eyes, take one down, pass it around..."

Fiddleford nearly dropped the rope. "Stanford?!"

A yelp. "Fiddleford? Is that you?"

He blinked back tears and squinted as hard as he could. "I can't see you. Stay where you are."

"I'm right below you. I can't see you, either," came the response.

"Hang on! I'm on my way!" Suddenly, a beam of light shone straight into Fiddleford's eyes. "Gah!"

"Hey! I see you!"

Fiddleford blinked. Colored spots flew across his vision. "Yeah. I see you, too."

"You have no idea how relieved I am that you're here," said Ford. He was getting closer. Fiddleford made sure not to look straight at his headlamp. "It feels like it's been an eternity!"

"I'm glad you stayed put," replied Fiddleford. "I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't find you. What happened?"

"I, uh... I kind of..." Ford's voice drifted off.

"What?" said Fiddleford. "I can't hear you."

"I dropped my radio, okay?"

Fiddleford couldn't help but snort. He slid down the last couple inches and climbed over Ford till the two were face-to-face. Ford's face was flushed from embarrassment.

"I'm glad you're okay," Fiddleford said with a bit of a sniffle. "I'd hug ya but I don't want to let go."

Ford cocked his head and inspected his friend. "Were you crying?"

Fiddleford wiped his eyes but didn't look away. "Maybe a little."

"Aw, Fiddleford," Ford let go of the rope with one arm and wrapped it around the other's shoulder. "I'm fine, see? We're both fine."

Fiddleford smiled. "Yeah."

The two sat still for a few moments, eyes locked, inches apart from one another. A tense silence lingered in the cold air.

Ford cleared his throat. "So, uh," he nodded towards the darkness above them. "Shall we go up?"

"One second," Fiddleford said. "I kinda threw this knot together. I just wanna tighten it real quick."

He leaned back in his harness and allowed it to hold his weight as he fussed with the knot. Ford watched his hands work around the knot, fiddling with it, untying and retying. He sat as the knot came undone again, as Fiddleford fumbled, as he began to scream -

Ford snapped out of his daze and grabbed Fiddleford's hand with both of his just before he fell. He grunted. "I gotcha, buddy!"

Fiddleford gasped and looked up, pure relief and gratitude washing over his face. Ford smiled back, but it ran away as a horrible ripping sound came from above them.

The two started to sink. Fiddleford's expression was replaced with one of terror.

"Uh-oh."

"Stanford?"

"Wait, just - I don't know how to - "

The rope was unable to bear the weight of the two and tore with a mighty  _ snap _ . Ford and Fiddleford screamed as they plummeted down into the unknown below them.


	5. Given the Circumstances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford and Stanford are both in the pit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written: August 1st 2016  
> WOW i have been putting this off for a while. been feeling really weird about it what with the release of journal 3 and all. i had to take off the canon compliant tag, even though the journal is still only "secondary canon" and contradicts show canon itself...... ah well whatever. there's gonna be one more (much shorter) chapter so just hang in there!! thank you guys for all the support and compliments!!!!
> 
> EDIT August 1st 2016: forgot to thank mathes0n.tumblr.com once again for proofreading the chapter!!!

**??? MINUTES INTO DESCENT***

The first thing that Fiddleford noticed was that he had the time to take a breath so he could keep screaming. Eventually he opened one eye, looking down, trying to see the terrible spikes that would impale him and bring about his doom. No such fate was in sight.

The second thing that Fiddleford noticed was that he and Ford were clinging rather tightly to one another and he was starting to lose feeling in his left arm. He let go, but quickly realized that he was terrified out of his wits and grabbed Ford's wrist again for safety.

"Ford? What's going on? Why haven't we died?"

Ford ran his hand through his hair, staring below him, eyes wide with panic. "I'm sorry. Oh, Fiddleford. I really messed up on this one," he licked his lips and shook his head, jerking it around as though searching for some sort of answer. "I just - I - I can't - I don't know how to - "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" exclaimed Fiddleford. He squeezed Ford's wrist and pulled him closer. Ford stilled at the reinstitution of physical contact and the two locked eyes. "Look, I'm as scared as you are, but you gotta tell me what's going on here!"

Stanford sniffed, his panicked look replaced with one of despair. Tears were swelling at the corners of his eyes. His voice was heartbroken and defeated. "Fiddleford, I've killed us both. I'm so sorry."

Fiddleford buried his initial fear under concern for his friend with a shake of his head. "Stanford, get a hold of yourself. You're not making any sense. I'm right here! I'm alive! Just please explain to me what all this is about!"

He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. It might have just been his imagination, or maybe the harsh beam from the headlamp was casting unusual shadows on his face, but Fiddleford thought he suddenly looked ages older, as though the few moments they'd spent falling together had actually been years. "Do you remember earlier, when I was talking about the black hole theory?" Fiddleford nodded, and Ford continued, slowly and deliberately. "Well, that's what I thought this place might be. A black hole. Or rather, a wormhole. About a week ago, I was talking to Bill."

Fiddleford cringed at the mention of Ford's unseen muse. In a split second, he recalled an uncomfortable confrontation, the truth coming to light, the mistrust between them, and the shaky resolution. He didn't trust Bill, but he trusted Ford to know if something went sour. He remained silent. "He was showing me some of the equations behind the portal, but I just couldn't wrap my head around them. I figured I needed a real-life example, and Bill told me about a tiny wormhole right here in town - incredibly small, and only contained within this dimension, but the amount of information and benefits it might yield could mean total autonomy on the project."

"You wouldn't need Bill's help," said Fiddleford. Ford nodded. "But I don't get it. I mean, sure, _I_ don't care much for Bill, but why would _you_ want to cut him out of the picture?"

Ford seemed to shudder at that question. "I... I'm not entirely certain. It's a lot of reasons, I think. I thought if I could prove I could do this on my own, then no one else would have to bother with me, and I'd finally..." he sighed and pushed up his glasses to rub his eyes with the palm of his hand. "I don't even know, Fiddleford. I was being ridiculous. I should've listened to Bill." he clenched his fist, voice quivering as he went on. "But I didn't. And now because of me, we're going to be squashed into an infinitesimal speck at the event horizon, if we don't starve to death first. You're going to die because of me and I can't do anything to stop it."

He was practically gargling his own tears at that point, and for a moment, time froze for Fiddleford. He felt his own heart stop beating. He saw tears floating up past Ford's face. He could hear the whistling of the wind in Ford's coat as they fell down further into the earth.

Fiddleford had imagined death often in his life. Mechanics weren't frightening to him - a few safety precautions and there was nothing to worry about. No, he'd always imagined going out by the hands of the things he couldn't see, in what he couldn't control. Famine, pestilence, old age - these were forces for which there were no safety precautions, as inevitable as the death they preceded. In between waking nightmares of yellow eyes and bottomless pits, he had pictured himself curled up on the side of some road, cold and alone. He would close his eyes and die soundlessly in his sleep. No one would know his name. It were these fears that kept him working, why he'd married too young in the first place, the idea that he could be close to someone and have people who cared about him before it was too late.

But instead, he realized as his heart began to pump again, he would die in the dark due to his own recklessness. If he'd only been more careful, if he hadn't slipped with the knot, if he hadn't thrown caution to the wind, he would have lived to see another day, to see the sun again, to see his _son again_ \--

In the span of a few seconds his heart had gone from motionless to speeding. He began blubbering, sniffling, choking, before truly breaking down and sobbing. Instantly, Ford pulled Fiddleford into a tight hug, patting him on the back till his breathing was more even.

"He's gonna think I abandoned him," mumbled Fiddleford, words slurred. He was still crying.

"Who?" asked Ford. He paused. "Tate?"

Fiddleford nodded with a sniffle and wrapped his arms around Ford, taking a shaky breath. "I promised I'd always be around for 'im. I promised I'd never leave 'im. He's gonna have to grow up without a dad and it's my fault. If I'd just been more _careful_ \--"

He broke out in sobs again and Ford continued to pat his back. "No, no, no, no, no, Fiddleford, this is all _my_ fault, it's because of _me_ that we're stuck down here, not you. You didn't know, you didn't do anything wrong --"

"Yes I _did_ , Ford!" cried Fiddleford. He pulled back, holding Ford at a distance slightly less than arm's length. " _I_ slipped up with my knot, and _I'm_ the one who made the rope snap!"

"But I'm the only reason we're down here in the first place! How can you possibly take any blame for what happened?"

"Because _I'm_ the one who made the mistake!"

"But that doesn't mean you _killed_ us!"

"Yes it does!"

"No it doesn't!"

Fiddleford was about to retort again, but he stopped. He looked straight into Ford's eyes.

He started to laugh.

It was impulsive, a result of stress and fear of his impending death, but once he started he couldn't stop. He laughed and laughed as tears fell down his face. Before he knew it, Ford was laughing too, and they laughed together and hugged each other, perfectly aware of their demise, yet unable to do anything but hold one another and laugh. Fiddleford held onto Ford tightly, squeezing his arms around his waist till Ford was coughing instead of laughing, but even then he didn't let go, he simply loosened his grip.

 _Hugs aren't supposed to last this long,_ thought Fiddleford. He rested his head on Ford's shoulder.

Ford sighed. "Can we agree to share the blame equally?"

"Yeah," said Fiddleford. "No real point in worrying about anything, really, y'know, considerin' our situation."

Ford took a deep breath. "I... I've been thinking about that, Fiddleford."

Fiddleford started a bit. He couldn't see Ford's face from where he was. "What do you mean?"

"I know I've... hidden a lot of information from you. And I know you know that I've never told a lie to you, but I can't help but feel like secrets are almost as bad, so I don't want to have any secrets between us. That's why I told you about Bill, why I told you the truth about my project, why I told you all about Stanley and everything I couldn't ever tell anyone else."

Fiddleford's mouth tasted like metal. Ford hadn't mentioned Stanley since college, and that hadn't ended well. Stanford had bawled for what seemed like hours, wrought with a horrible mixture of anger and guilt, and Fiddleford couldn't think of anything to do other than hold him and -

Well. In retrospect, maybe it hadn't ended _that_ badly. Blissful memories of late nights and holding hands faded into his thoughts, warm and tender and passionate and above all _secret_ , but Fiddleford snapped his meandering mind out of his romantic college daydream and focused himself on the moment at hand. He could tell the conversation was about to go in a very sensitive and potentially uncomfortable direction for Stanford, and he needed to pay full attention.

A tiny part of him couldn't help but feel exhilarated.

Stanford pulled back from Fiddleford, hiding one hand behind his back and refusing to meet his gaze. He still loosely held Fiddleford's wrist with his other hand. "There's something I've been meaning - wanting to tell you for a long... an eternity, really, ever since you came up here, but I didn't, because it wasn't my place, and your wife had just - and you were building all those robots, and -"

"Ford. Please. Spit it out," his voice was even but his heart was racing. He wondered if Ford could hear the blood rushing through his veins, or feel it in his wrist, which was being squeezed in Ford's vice of a grip as he had become more anxious.

"I'm trying, Fiddleford, it's a little bit -" he swallowed hard, and when he spoke again his edge was gone. "I just don't want to die without you knowing."

Fiddleford didn't hesitate. "Knowing what?"

Ford looked up into his eyes, wide and helpless. "Please don't make me say it."

"Say what? I don't unders-"

"I just - I never stopped feeling that way about you, okay?"

Fiddleford snapped his mouth shut.

"I know college seems like eons ago, but whenever I reflected on what we had, I never - I still pertained all those feelings! I loathe them, I really do, because it would be selfish to expect you to present a _man_ to your family functions and it's blasphemous to your beliefs but - but whenever I see you, it's - nothing changed! Except _everything_ changed, because you have a child to raise and a divorce to recover from and yet my _obstinate ass_ is still completely in love with you!"

His last few words echoed off of the walls and were gone within the blink of an eye as they fell, but they continued to reverberate within Fiddleford's mind.

What was he supposed to say? At least a billion thoughts raced through his brain and he couldn't focus on one long enough to annunciate it.

He jerked a thumb at himself and choked out "Me?"

Ford nodded vigorously, then noticed he was still crushing Fiddleford's wrist, and so he released it.

Fiddleford stared at his feet and let out a low whistle.

"And if you don't feel the same way - or, or if you hate me, that's okay, because we'll be dead soon anyway and it won't matter!" he said quickly. "Except... that probably isn't a very comforting thought, is it? I probably just reminded you of a multitude of unpleasant things, oh no... I'm sorry, Fiddleford, this seemed like a good idea, please don't -"

Fiddleford closed his eyes, shook his head, and laughed.

Ford paused. "Is this another bad laugh? Are you laughing because you're unhappy? I should shut up, shouldn't I? I'm sorry, I -"

"No, no, it's okay, Ford, just..." Fiddleford inhaled. "Just give me a minute."

He opened his eyes, only to look at his own feet. He took the time to process his thoughts.

Ford was still in love with him. Everything he'd said in college was true and hadn't been nullified when they graduated and went their separate ways.

 _I can tell him,_ he thought. _I can tell him why I worry about him all the time. I can tell him why I always get nervous during expeditions. I can tell him why I agreed to live here. I can tell him why my laptop password is his name._

Was it a good idea if he had a son to care for? Would people mock him? Would he be able to deal with Bill?

Did it matter if he was about to die?

He looked up at Ford, who was holding one hand to his face as the other floated by his side, unsure what to do.

Fiddleford smiled meekly. "When we left college, I thought I'd never see you again."

Ford seemed to perk up at that. "I thought so too! I thought you were going off to change the world with your gadgets and gizmos!"

Fiddleford snorted. "Me? The hillbilly? What about you? You've been nothing but ambition from the start! You were _destined_ for greatness!"

Finally, Ford smiled. "You flatter me. But I'm only a hermit of a nerd without your help. I can only _hope_ that this portal does some good for the world." he faltered. "But I supposed it's going to rust in the basement instead."

Fiddleford bit his lip and reached for Ford's hand. Ford started at the contact, but didn't pull back.

He took a breath to try to collect his thoughts.

"You," he said.

Ford furrowed his brow. "Me?"

 _Eloquent._ "You. Me. Same. I'm the same. As you. I like you, too. I feel the same. I like you a lot," he intertwined his fingers around Ford's. "I really, really do? And I wanna see you... all the time..."

"I'm really sorry, I don't understand at all."

"Goddamnit, Ford, I love you too!"

Ford looked taken aback. "Wait, what?"

Fiddleford felt his face burning and looked away. "L - O - V - E, _LOVE,_ Ford! As in, the feeling of affection, the happiness inside when someone is around you, not wanting to be away from them, and the horrible feeling when they're gone! Admiration! Caring! Gratitude! Togetherness! Understanding!" he squeezed Ford's hand and met his gaze again. "Everything I've ever done, it's all because I can't stand to see you upset or hurt or worse! It's for you! It's why I came here! For _you!"_

Ford was quiet for a moment as they stared at one another. "Really?"

"Absolutely!"

A massive crooked grin spread across his face as he started to sniffle.

"Please don't cry again, Ford."

His mouth quivered and he wiped at his eyes. "I can't help it. I'm simultaneously the happiest and the most upset I've ever been."

"Oh, you big _sap!"_ Fiddleford launched himself into Ford's arms, wrapping his around him once again and laughing when Ford hugged him back.

For the first time in years, he didn't feel like he had to let go.

That feeling left almost instantaneously as he spotted a strange white light below him.

"Ford?" he said, tapping his shoulder and pointing.

Ford looked down and his face fell. "The event horizon..."

"I thought you said it wouldn't be for days!"

"I said I didn't _know_ when we'd get to it!"

"Jiminey Cricket, Ford, that's a little bit different from _starving to death!"_

"Look, the point is, wherever we're headed, we're headed there now!" shouted Ford.

He was right, of course. His stomach churned and he felt dizzy as the light rapidly approached.

Without warning, Stanford took Fiddleford's head in his hand and turned it to face him. "So in case I never see you again -"

\- and suddenly Ford's lips were on his, and his mind was wiped totally blank as his thoughts were overridden with pure sensory bliss. He wanted to melt into Ford's arms and never leave, he wanted to stay with him forever, he wanted to kiss him forever, and -

He pulled back. They locked eyes one last time as the brightness engulfed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *If they'd bothered to check, they'd see that the wormhole had messed with their watches. Oh well. Time is an illusion, anyway.
> 
> i know that this work contradicts MAJORLY with journal 3's canon but i figured since i was so far in i should just finish this the way i intended to. like i said at the top journal 3 is still only secondary canon and contradicts with the show's canon too so i don't really have that many qualms about this; i still consider it canon compliant by the show's standards and anyway id much rather have my boys be happy than have to rewrite a whole fic to make it angsty yknow?


	6. In the Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford and Stanford exit the pit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written: August 4th, 2016  
> tumblr: http://tinyurl.com/hshyblk  
> little warning for emetophobia. our pal fidds has a delicate stomach.  
> posting without proofreading which i'll probably regret but idrc because IT'S FINALLY DONE AHHHHH  
> thank you to everyone for sticking around so long!!!!  
> EDIT on August 5th, 2016: added tumblr link :0

Light.

Bright, blinding.

He blinked.

The tips of trees blurred into view and he could see the bright blue of the sky above him.

Instinctively, he raised a hand to block out the glare, squinting.

He was alive.

His glasses. Where were his glasses?

Coarse grass met his hand as he patted the ground around him. With a grunt, he sat up. He tried to look in his immediate vicinity, but it was nearly impossible to discern objects close to him.

"Looking for these?"

He turned in the direction of the voice and was surprised to see a vaguely hand-shaped blob mere inches from his face. Shaking, he reached up and took what he immediately recognized as his glasses. He twitched and gently positioned them on his nose.

The figure before him came into focus.

"Ford," he breathed.

Ford gave a little wave. "Hey."

He groaned and fell back into the grass.

Ford wrinkled his nose and nodded. He sniffed and lowered himself clumsily to the ground beside him.

"You're sitting on my hair," he said.

Ford mumbled a couple of apologies and scooted over a bit.

He closed his eyes.

"Have I been out long?" he asked.

"Only a couple minutes," replied Ford.

"What happened?"

"We both popped out back where we started. I was fine when I landed, but you hit your head pretty hard on this," he produced a medium-sized rock from his coat pocket and held it over Fiddleford's head.

Fiddleford inspected it and took it when he realized what it was.

He turned it over a couple times in his hands, rubbing his thumb over the rough sides.

Ford hovered over him.

"Tate gave this to me on Father's Day last year," he said finally. "He forgot to get me a card."

Ford pondered this for a moment.

"Do you miss him?"

"Every day," he replied.

"I'm sorry, Fiddleford."

 _Fiddleford._ The memory of the past afternoon flooded back into his mind.

"What happened?"

"I already told you."

"I'm talking about while we were  _in there."_

Birds chirped in the canopy above them.

"We told the truth," he said. His voice was quiet.

Fiddleford's heart swirled. So did his stomach. He stumbled to his feet and made his way to the dense shrubs, where he promptly lost his lunch.

He hung his head and sighed.

Suddenly, a thought popped into his head. He stood up and turned around to peer at the sky.

"Ford," he said, walking back to the mouth of the pit.

Ford swiveled his head toward Fiddleford. "Yes?"

"When you went into the hole, the sun was starting to set. But look," he pointed to the sun, which was barely beginning to kiss the top of the forest. "No time has passed."

Ford followed his finger and furrowed his brow in confusion. "What?" 

He pulled out his watch and studied it, then looked back to the sky. "I don't understand. Did any of that actually happen?"

Fiddleford felt his face flush. He forced the words out of his mouth, but they came out slurred and mumbled: "Only if you want it to."

Ford stood up and faced Fiddleford. "I do," he said solemnly.

Fiddleford hadn't thought he'd heard him. He felt like he was shrinking.

Ford started to speak, but paused, and licked his lips. "Do... do you?"

Fiddleford opened his mouth, but his words were caught in his esophagus.

Ford cleared his throat and spoke again, louder. "Do you want it to have happened?"

"No, no, I heard you," said Fiddleford.

His face darkened. "No, you... don't want it to?"

Fiddleford's blush deepened. "No, no, no!! I mean, yes! I mean -" he shook his head. "I want it to have happened."

Ford couldn't hide his smile. "...Oh."

Fiddleford glanced down. Ford was hiding both of his hands behind his back.

He pulled one of the arms forward and held his hand.

Ford gulped.

The sun was beginning to set.

"We should probably head back home," said Fiddleford.

"Yes," said Ford.

They remained still.

"Does this... change anything?"

 _Yes,_ was Fiddleford's first thought, but then, _No, not really,_ and then,  _Maybe a little?_

"I'm not sure," he concluded. "I think I've thought about this for a long time and might've been subconsciously been acting in a way I perceived myself acting if we were..."

"If we were partners," finished Ford.

Fiddleford nodded.

"Then that's what we are," said Ford, squeezing his hand. "We can be partners."

Fiddleford smiled.

"That sounds perfect."


End file.
